The latch to gravity room released, sending hot, musty air billowing past Bulla like a hurricane. She wrinkled her nose, wondering just how long her father had been exercising. From the odor, she guessed about two days. Then she laughed, knowing this wasn't true. Still, Vegeta's attitude had been on the bad side of worse lately, which she and her brother Trunks noticed as soon as their mother left for a short vacation. They were immune to his normal level of grouchiness. Ironically, that level of emotional expression was when the prince could be most loving. He did things, even when the doing was a pain in the ass. His response would often lead to a string of incoherent muttering, cursing, sly joking, and the occasional back slap on someone's head. But, when quietly observing his talkative, energetic family, his eyes said everything. He would kill for them, unquestionably.

He dried his hair as she approached him from behind. "I don't have cash on me, Echalotte – and if I did, I wouldn't give it to you. There's a reason why your mother suspended your credit cards and locked your bank account this month."

She put her arms around his waist, hoping the affection would soften his response. "Daddy, I'm not here for that."

He turned around, staring into her eyes. "The hell you aren't."

Bulla bit her lip. "Okay, I'm not here for that only." He was so good at calling her bluff. He relished it.

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta leaned over and waved at her. "Goodbye, Echalotte."

Bulla stamped her feet. Eighteen years old – technically an adult by law – and yet these spoiled-little-girl mannerisms were ingrained. Her father should take some responsibility for that, she felt. He doted on his little princess from the day she was born. Her brother always said he had the better end of the deal as he matured, though. Risking his life by being blunt, Trunks would usually tell Vegeta to make Bulla do more - of everything. The young man had no problem undertaking these duties, especially when their mother wasn't around, regardless of how much he irritated his sister.

Vegeta flew off as soon as they walked outside, while Bulla kicked up a small dirt cloud near the entrance. She then decided to find her cat, Midnight Blue. She rushed across the yard, meowing and clucking her tongue, hoping to capture her pet's attention. Trunks had been relaxing on the back porch, surrounded by papers, scrawled notepads, pens, and sundry books. Vegeta never failed to give him a hard time about it, saying that his son learned these "sloppy" habits from Bulma. In all truth, when Bulma traveled, Vegeta liked having his son around to mimic his wife's routine.

Trunks yawned and walked to the porch screen. "Hey, kiddo! Could you knock off that god-awful howling? I'm trying to sleep over here! You probably ran Blue away with that noise anyway!"

"Shut up, Trunks!"

"Is that any way to speak to your older, wiser brother?" His hands clasped in prayer position. "You were such a sweet girl once. Now look at you."

Bulla's face turned red. "I hate you. You are so rude."

His head tilted right, inviting her to stay. "Come back here, you insufferable brat. I want to talk."

"Well, I don't want to talk with you," Bulla huffed.

Trunks outstretched his arms as she neared the porch. Thrilled, she ran over and nestled into his embrace. He looked down and tapped her nose. "You have to admit that my hugs are always perfect."

"Must you always emphasize how much better you are at everything, dear brother of mine?"

"Hn. I am my father's son," he said, squeezing his muscles theatrically. "Now if I could only get Vegeta to stop calling me 'boy.' It could be my 80th birthday and he would still say it. In fact, he'll probably live long enough to make sure he could."

Bulla picked up his soda. "I'm drinking the rest of this."

"Yah, I know," Trunks said, waving her off. "So what's the real problem? Still angry that you can't spend us into the poor house?"

"Mom and dad told you?!" She threw her hands up. "Ugh! This is so embarrassing!"

"You're 18-years-old, Bulla. I expect you to be embarrassed by everything. Mom told me. Dad grunted. I think he believes your punishment was harsh. You can tell everything by the pitch of his groans. Mother must have threatened him to stay quiet."

"Damn." Pouting, Bulla punched a dusty seat cushion. "So I will have no social life for two months."

Trunks patted the patio bench, motioning for her to sit by him. "You know, have you considered spending more time with our parents before your freshman year in space? It won't be long before you're gone, and I suspect dad might be struggling more over it."

"Daddy didn't seem too enthused to see me earlier."

They both looked up when the cat appeared at the porch entrance, carrying an unfortunate and soon-to-be dead grasshopper. Trunks snapped his fingers. Blue's tail swished, challenging him to make her drop the bug. Bulla laughed, betting on the cat to win the stand-off. Feline and human stared each other down like they were in a classic movie western.

Trunks cut his eyes at his sister. "God, this creature is just like you and mom. Did you implant some of your DNA into her genes?" Dropping her terrorized garden prize, Blue pranced over and jumped on his lap. He snorted dismissively as the clever feline nudged him to scratch her head and chin, which he did.

Bulla winked. "Uh, looks like Blue wins."

Watching his sister pout, Trunks exhaled to gather his thoughts. Bulla's arms tightly hugged her legs, which were propped on the bench.

"Look, honey. If you were asking papa for money, which I'm sure you were, I'm not so sure that I wouldn't be annoyed either. No one expects you to be a total mind reader, including him, but you could have paid closer attention. Maybe he felt hurt because that's all you wanted."

"That is not fair, Trunks. He hasn't tried hard to extend himself to me lately like he typically does. At least you two can bond over stupid sports games or cooking meals or playing cards."

He flipped Bulla's long lavender hair over her face. "Don't forget the sparring matches, damn it. We also like discussing history together."

"Sparring matches, you say?" Bulla clapped her hands. Her skeptical laughter drawled like an untuned guitar. "You mean papa doing afternoon exercises while you watch? I wouldn't call that a match, dude."

"Back to my original point, young lady. I never left home. You are. Cut dad a break."

"But it's not like I'll be gone forever, Trunks."

"No, you won't. You'll come back, but I can see it in your eyes. You're likely commit entirely once you immerse yourself in that way of life. If I recognized it, then I know papa did much earlier."

"Are you suggesting that he's not happy for me?"

"No, I'm not. He wants you to grow. But, like me, I know he and mom will be a little lonelier without you here as much to drive them bat-shit crazy."

Trunks kissed her cheek as Bulla became tearful. She lay her head on his shoulder, and for the next hour they discussed anything they wanted. She knew most siblings would kill to have a smart, loving brother like hers. These moments reminded her not to take their relationship for granted.

"Will you make dinner for us tonight while mom is away? She always forces me and dad to eat strange green stuff grown at Capsule's arboretum. Shrubbery, hay, grass - I don't know what the hell it is, but we can't eat meat until choking that other crap down. Mom says the 'roughage' helps dad avoid constipation, now that he's older. I try to spit it out as much as possible in a pot under the table."

Trunks almost dropped his reading glasses from laughing. "I didn't know that papa has, um, any age-related bowel-movement problems. I think he was born looking constipated. After all of these years, mom has finally brainwashed the prince of all Saiyans. She must be drugging his oatmeal."

Bulla elbowed him. "What about dinner?"

"Nope. You are on your own, kid. Yarrow and I are teaching together at university tonight."

"I thought married people aren't supposed to work together like that."

"Yeah, I guess. My husband and I agreed not to do it often because of his temperament. Not everyone can work as well together as mom and dad have after so many years." Sensing their father's presence, he approached porch entrance. The prince was still miles away, but he would be there relatively soon.

"What is it?"

Angry, Trunks thumped on the door. "You must stop letting your guard down, Bulla. It shouldn't matter whether you're with me, dad, Krillin or Pan. You should have immediately sensed papa coming. I'm tempted to tell him so he can eat you alive, but I won't today. However, if this happens again, don't expect me to save you."

Bulla looked down. "Okay. I'm sorry." His scowling frown almost reminded her of their father.

Trunks squeezed her hand and moved her in front, pointing at the oncoming sunset. "Apologizing now without changing your behavior later could get you and others killed. Papa has racked his brain since you decided on further education in space. He doesn't have to voice every concern for me to understand. I have mine as well. Regardless, you better damn well show more respect. Losing either of us would devastate him and mom. And always pay attention to his eyes. They reveal more than you may realize. We all love you so much, honey."

Bulla helped gather her brother's possessions while the cat busied herself with Trunks' ankles and untied shoelaces. "I'll get the rest of my things, Bulla. Don't worry about cleaning up anymore. I had food prepared and delivered for you and dad already. It's in the fridge – and it is ninety percent meat. Let him go first, though, before you dig in."

Bulla squealed and jumped around the porch. "You are the best!"

He hugged her tight. "I'm just a boring, goofy schoolteacher who also adores daddy's little princess. Now do me a favor and go away."

"He's coming here."

"Yes, and I want to speak with him alone. Go away."

Vegeta's eyes shifted from right to left. "Where is she? Has she panhandled you for cash too?"

Trunks waved at him, smiling. "Why don't we start with hello? Have a seat. I must get to class soon."

"You know, boy, for someone as smart as you are, you have zero emotional intelligence. Nothing in my body language suggests that I want to be seated. You're the one with the time deadline, speedy - so talk."

"How long has it been since your last full meal?" Trunks walked around him. "Your ki energy is off."

Vegeta shrugged. "I am fine. I haven't been as hungry the past few days."

"Cut the crap, dad. Mom isn't here, and I ordered princess to leave so we could speak privately. My time is just as valuable as yours. Would you prefer that I not care?"

"I need you to get off my back," Vegeta said with resignation. "I am asking you as nicely as I can before my teeth crack from the pressure of being pleasant."

Trunks turned on a porch lamp and sat down again. "You know, papa, I remember Goten asking me years ago if I ever felt jealous about how you were raising Bulla."

"Hn." Vegeta crossed his arms. "Leave it to Kakarot's most uncouth, ne'er-do-well son to ask stupid questions like that. Is there a point to all of this? Don't forget, Trunks, I am still the father here – not you. I care for myself just fine."

His protests sounded lackluster. Trunks knew his father would be disappointed if he left, even if the prince didn't recognize it himself. "I told Goten no, papa. Sure, I could have been jealous, but I was old enough to appreciate how earnest you were as a new parent again. You were trying to find your way - differently."

"Yes," Vegeta said quietly, "and now I believe that my Echalotte has been ill-served by my side of parenting. Bulma actually wanted her to continue training with me – like a grown man – saying that your sister needed more discipline. She has been the toughest on her, really. Your mother also reminds me daily about her difficult pregnancies. 'I want my reward,' she yells! So there you go. I've admitted it. Happy?"

"So now you're not eating?"

"Is your memory that short?" Vegeta asked irritably. "I said I am not eating as much, and it has nothing to do with our discussion. You could afford to gain more weight too."

Trunks grabbed his father's shoulders from the front. "Look at me, old man, I command you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. By my royal decree, you are freed from all guilt or regrets about what could or should have been while raising my baby sister. She is a great young woman. Let's just focus on that for now. We can work on the rest." He looked at his watch. "I really have to go now."

"I suppose you should continue that 'honest living' these whining humans drone on and on about."

They both gave each other high-fives.

"Bye, dad."

Vegeta gave him the peace sign as he walked inside. "Yarrow is a better cook than you. Don't return here this week without him - or groceries."

Trunks laughed so hard until he started coughing. "How about getting off your lazy ass and cooking something for me? I am nothing but a poor, hungry teacher – and I already bought your dinner tonight, dude."

"I won't dignify your horrendous lie about your 'poverty' with another word. Get out of my face, boy." Vegeta felt better after their chat, until the slightest whiff of smoke and rotten eggs wafted beneath his nose.

"Holy shit!"

He raced to the kitchen, pushing Bulla out of the way to turn off all appliances. Glowering at her, he then activated the ventilation fans. His wife would get an angry earful from him about keeping that fire-trap antique oven without consulting him. It's not like the woman wasn't a mechanical genius. He couldn't understand her affinity for these infernal "toys."

"Daddy, what did you do that for?!"

He slapped his forehead. "Because you almost blew up our home, Echalotte! Did your sense of smell disappear? Rotten egg odor equals natural gas leakage. You know this! How in the hell can I trust you studying in space when you don't pay attention to little things?"

Looking dejected, she dropped her stirring spoon in the pot. "I was trying to make the sauce you like for the meal Trunks gave us tonight. He and mom always use this stove to prepare it, so I thought it would be fun if you watched me."

"Fun isn't exactly my biggest concern, princess. Look, I want you to sit down while I prepare the food. Just pour me a glass of wine – a large one." He pointed. "It's that red one over there. Get it now, before my hands start shaking!"

Bulla giggled. "That bad, huh?"

"I didn't drink until I met your mother. It worsened when Trunks was a teenager, and then there's you. I am fortunate that my Saiyan liver is larger than the average human's, or I would be dead already."

They smiled at each other. They couldn't help it.

"Daddy, I'm sorry. I was being selfish earlier today."

"You were. Apology accepted."

"Wow. That was easy."

Vegeta swirled his wine around in the glass. "That was easy. The hard part is convincing me that you're ready for more responsibility. The closer you get to leaving home the more anxious I become. Being thrown in the fire is how your brother and I learned to fight… and learn about ourselves. Before you study in space, I would rather have you take two years to study with me and others of my choosing. What I'm proposing is mind, body, and spiritual work."

Bulla tapped the middle of her chin. "So let me get this straight. You want to play catch up with me now? I finally make a strong choice about what I want to do with my life, and now you're afraid and skeptical about what I can accomplish? Papa, you can't have it both ways, and don't tell me that you would have treated Trunks like this."

Vegeta aimed the cooking spoon at her. "What's the distance from Earth to Furiosa Galaxy?"

"Two and a half million light years."

"What is the atmospheric pressure on planet Mimo?"

Bulla started filing her fingernails. "Thirty-eight bar. That was easy. Mom would laugh at you for asking me these simple questions."

Vegeta sat down next to her. "My point is this: It's all well and good to know details, but you also must know how to apply them. Death is the great equalizer. No one is immune, and you have not personally seen the ugliest ways one can get there. I have, Echalotte, more times than I care to remember. I can't control everything that happens to you, but I can damn well ensure that you're prepared better. Will you trust me, or do I have to chain you in Bulma's wine cellar until you accept? She says the table mushrooms are growing well down there, too."

"Now you're just being silly, daddy."

Teeth bared, the prince set his glass down and leaned in. "Try me."

Bulla suddenly felt warm, and it wasn't from the kitchen's heat. Trunks was right about observing her father's eyes. They scared her shitless.

"Sure! Whatever you say, papa. I trust you wholeheartedly. Want more wine?"